Tongue Tied
by SereneCalamity
Summary: Steve wasn't too good with words. And the new Bucky wasn't really either. Stucky. OneShot.


So _there are already heeeeaps of these 'getting used to each other stories' and I'll undoubtedly write heeeeaps more because I love them so much so no apologies. They're also insanely fucking hot, and I keep getting inspired to write about them. Anyway; on with the story!_

 _Disclaimer: I don't own any if the characters depressingly enough._

He had never been good with words, or conversations.

He had never wanted to be someone who stood before people and gave speeches to rouse them. He had only ever wanted to follow orders and be a good soldier; fighting for his people and what was right.

It had always been Bucky—James Buchanan—who was good with words, and just people in general.

But that was then, and this was now.

And Steve Rogers knew that things were completely different.

He couldn't get drunk, but that didn't stop him from throwing back a couple of glasses of bourbon on the first night that he and Bucky were at the safe house.

He and Sam Wilson had tracked Bucky down, with the help of Nicholas Fury and Natasha Romanov, and when they had found him, the memories were all just starting to come back. He knew that Steve wasn't the enemy, he knew that they were friends, but he found it hard to distinguish between all the details. What was real or not real. But even though he couldn't put all the pieces together, he knew that going with Steve was the right thing for him, and so here they were, in one of Natasha's safe houses in some deserted piece of the country, that she had kindly stocked up before they had arrived.

Bucky had wandered through the house, taking it all in, and then told Steve gruffly that he was going out for a walk.

That was six hours ago.

Steve was now beginning to wonder if Bucky was going to come back at all.

He fell asleep on the couch waiting for him, still fully dressed in sweatpants, a long-sleeved shirt and a hoodie.

When he woke up the next morning, there was a thin blanket pulled over him, and a pillow tucked behind his head.

* * *

The days went by, and they adjusted to each other again.

There still wasn't much talking, but that suited their new selves.

Bucky wasn't...He wasn't the same anymore.

But then again, neither was Steve.

They were both a little broken, both a little war-weary, and both a far cry from the care-free boys in Brooklyn that they once knew.

They needed to learn about each other all over again.

Natasha came out and saw them a twice over the next few weeks. Bucky seemed to like her, although he never came into the room when she was there, always standing in the doorway as though he was getting ready to run. Nick didn't come out and see them, but he video-chatted with them every second day to check on process and keep Steve updated with the outside world. Sam also rang, which Steve valued.

Things started slow...Small.

They ate breakfast apart. Steve wasn't even sure that Bucky ate breakfast so much as just lived on black coffee. Then they would usually spend the day apart.

Bucky walked, exploring the forests out behind the safe house, while Steve stayed inside after his morning jog, reading and sketching—something that he hadn't done as far back as he could remember.

But they ate dinner together. At first it was Steve who cooked, mainly the basics, like cheese on toast or baked beans. One day, though, Bucky came back from his walk with two plastic bags full of food and said that they should try something different.

So they did.

It had been a little awkward at first. They bumped elbows and stepped on each others toes as they moved around the kitchen; two big, muscular men in a tiny room that was made for the petite Black Widow. But they learnt each others movements and how to work around one another, just like they had when they were younger.

Steve slept better after that, managing to make it almost a steady six hours on the narrow couch in the back room he had claimed as his own. Bucky stopped disappearing for hours on end, still going out for a majority of the day, but returning a little earlier, and staying in the same room as him.

They still didn't talk, but they didn't really need to.

Bucky watched Steve sketch, something they hadn't done since they were young teenagers.

Steve made Bucky feel things, which he hadn't in a long time. He made him feel warm and safe and relaxed, which were feelings that he, as the Winter Soldier, didn't even know could exist.

He made him feel like _Bucky_ again.

He made him know that Bucky didn't need to be afraid anymore.

And so he wasn't.

Bucky invited Steve to come out into the forest with him, and they walked for hours in silence. Then they went home and they cooked dinner, and sat in the lounge, watching mindless television. Bucky took their plates into the kitchen and then came back into the lounge and sat back down on the couch next to Steve.

This time a little bit closer, their knees touching.

Steve felt his stomach flip, and bit down hard on his lower lip to stop a grin from stretching over his face.

* * *

More days went by.

Bucky stayed in a couple of times, and they played board games. It was all very domestic like, with Bucky pretending to get annoyed and throwing Monopoly tokens when Steve cleaned up _again_ , and the blonde letting out a crow of delight as he won another round of Stone Wall. Their fingers brushed together maybe a hundred times, and every time they did, they seemed to linger just a split second longer than necessary.

Steve was surprised that Bucky hadn't pulled him up on the slight blush that was staining his cheeks.

The old Bucky definitely would.

Before smothering him in kisses.

Just remembering those stolen moments made Steve go even more red, butterflies in his stomach.

It was going into their sixth week at the safe house when Steve woke with a start in the middle of the night. His whole body had jolted away and he looked around as he tried to identify the reason behind his wake up. He found the reason quickly, on the ground beside the couch.

Bucky, with a blanket pulled up around him and one of his hands on the couch next to Steve's, his knuckles brushing against Steve's side.

This time, he slept until late the next morning.

Three days later, Steve came out of the bathroom, a towel slung low around his hips. Bucky was in the lounge, and caught a glimpse of him as he walked down the hall to his room. Steve didn't realize it until he went to kick his door shut, that Bucky was right behind him.

Now would be a good time to finally say something.

Anything, really.

But it had been times like this especially where Bucky had been best at talking.

Soothing.

Whispering.

This Bucky didn't have anything to say now, though.

But he still felt the same.

"James..." was all Steve managed to murmur out as Bucky's hands came up to touch Steve. His metal arm touched Steve's bare side, a shiver running through him but not at all from the cold of the prosthetic arm. His flesh hand cupped Steve's face.

And then there lips were together.

For the first time in over seventy years.

It was tentative and gentle, as they did what they had been doing every day for the past six weeks. Learning each others rhythms from the start again. Bucky's facial hair scratched lightly at Steve's smooth cheeks, and the blonde couldn't help but thread his fingers through the brunette's shaggy hair.

Then it got a little faster, a little deeper, until both of their lips had swollen, red lips. When they pulled apart, they stared at each other for a long few minutes, before Bucky cracked an adorable half smile. Steve felt relief rush through him and he gave him a smile in return.

They didn't have words right now, but that was okay, because it was the best kind of tongue tied that there was.

 _So? Did you guys like it? Tell me, tell me, I love reviews :)_


End file.
